Part 16 (1/2)

Now, the truth was, that Graham, a wealthy and respectable Protestant farmer, was uncle to the sergeant; a fact which Fergus well knew, in consequence of having been a house servant with him for two or three years.

”Sergeant,” said the Williamite settler, ”I think this matter may be easily settled. Let two of the men go back to your uncle's with him, and see whether they know him there or not.”

”Very well,” replied the sergeant, ”let you and Simpson go back with him--I have no objection. If my uncle's people don't know him, why then bring him down to Sir Roberts'.”

”It's not fair to put such a task upon a man of my age,” replied Steen, ”when you know that you have younger men here.”

”It was you proposed it, then,” said the sergeant, ”and I say, Steen, if you be a true man you have a right to go, and no right at all to s.h.i.+rk your duty. But stop--I'll settle it in a word's speaking: here you--you old Papish, where are you?--oh, I see--you're there, are you? Come now, gentlemen, shoulder arms--all right--present anns. Now, you confounded Papish, you say that you have often slept in my uncle's barn?”

”Is Mr. Graham your uncle, sir?--bekaise, if he is, I know that I'm in the hands of a respectable man.”

”Come now--was there anything particular in the inside of that barn?--Gentlemen, are you ready to slap into him if we find him to be an imposther?”

”All ready, sergeant.”

”Come now, you blasted Papish, answer me--”

”Troth, and I can do that, sargin'. You say Mr. Graham's your uncle, an' of coorse you have often been in that barn yourself. Very well, sir, don't you know that there's a prop on one side to keep up one of the cupples that gave way one stormy night, and there's a round hole in the lower part of the door to let the cats in to settle accounts wid the mice and rats.”

”Come, come, boys, it's all right. He has described the barn to a hair.

That will do, my Papish old c.o.c.k. Come, I say, as every man must have a religion, and since the Papishes won't have ours, why the devil shouldn't they have one of their own?”

”That's dangerous talk,” said Steen, ”to proceed from your lips, sergeant. It smells of treason, I tell you; and if you had spoken these words in the days of the great and good King William, you might have felt the consequences.”

”Treason and King William be hanged!” replied the sergeant, who was naturally a good-natured, but out-spoken fellow--”sooner than I'd take up a poor devil of a beggar that has enough to do to make out his bit and sup. Go on about your business, poor devil; you shan't be molested.

Go to my uncle's, where you'll get a bellyfull, and a comfortable bed of straw, and a winnow-cloth in the barn. Zounds!--it would be a nice night's work to go out for w.i.l.l.y Reilly and to bring home a beggar man in his place.”

This was a narrow escape upon the part of Fergus, who knew that if they had made' a prisoner of him, and produced him before Sir Robert Whitecraft, who was a notorious persecutor, and with whom the Red Rapparee was now located, he would unquestionably have been hanged like a dog. The officer of the party, however--to wit, the worthy sergeant--was one of those men who love a drop of the native, and whose heart besides it expands into a sort of surly kindness that has something comical and not disagreeable in it. In addition to this, he never felt a confidence in his own authority with half the swagger which he did when three quarters gone. Steen and he were never friends, nor indeed was Steen ever a popular man among his acquaintances. In matters of trade and business he was notoriously dishonest, and in the moral and social relations of life, selfish, uncandid, and treacherous.

The sergeant, on the other hand, though an out-spoken and flaming anti-Papist in theory, was, in point of fact, a good friend to his Roman Catholic neighbors, who used to say of him that his bark was worse than his bite.

When his party had pa.s.sed on, Fergus stood for a moment uncertain as to where he should direct his steps. He had not long to wait, however.

Reilly, who had no thoughts of abandoning him to the mercy of the military, without at least knowing his fate, nor, we may add, without a firm determination to raising his tenantry, and rescuing the generous fellow at every risk, immediately sprung across the ditch and joined him.

”Well, Fergus,” said he, clasping his hand, ”I heard everything, and I can tell you that every nerve in my body trembled whilst you were among them.”

”Why,” said Fergus, ”I knew them at once by their voices, and only that I changed my own as I did I won't say but they'd have nabbed me.”

”The test of the barn was frightful; I thought you were gone; but you must explain that.”

”Ay, but before I do,” replied Fergus, ”where are we to go? Do you still stand for widow Buckley's?”

”Certainly, that woman may be useful to me.”

”Well, then, we may as well jog on in that direction, and as we go I will tell you.”

”How then did you come to describe the barn--or rather, was your description correct?”

”Ay, as Gospel. You don't know that by the best of luck and providence of G.o.d, I was two years and a half an inside laborer with Mr. Graham. As is usual, all the inside men-servants slept, wintrier and summer, in the barn; and that accounts for our good fortune this night. Only for that scoundrel, Steen, however, the whole thing would not have signified much; but he's a black and deep villain that. n.o.body likes him but his brother scoundrel, Whitecraft, and he's a favorite with him, bekaise he's an active and unscrupulous tool in his hands. Many a time, when these men--military-militia-yeomen, or whatever they call them, are sent out by this same Sir Robert, the poor fellows don't wish to catch what they call the unfortunate Papish-es, and before they come to the house they'll fire off their guns, pretinding to be in a big pa.s.sion, but only to give their poor neighbors notice to escape as soon as they can.”